


The Wolf Remembers

by LadyOfDragonstone



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Gen, He is one sad boy, Post-death Jon, drabble challenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-07
Updated: 2018-11-07
Packaged: 2019-08-19 08:58:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16531451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyOfDragonstone/pseuds/LadyOfDragonstone
Summary: After returning into the mortal world, Jon a memory that keeps him warm against the cold.





	The Wolf Remembers

**Author's Note:**

  * For [aliciutza](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aliciutza/gifts).



> Tumblr promt: I'm too sober for this

“It’s cold.”

Val’s breath misted as she spoke, even if the tent’s walls protected them from the rising winds.

He nodded, though the cold never reached him. Or perhaps Jon had forgotten the warmth against his skin. It did not matter.

She poured herself a cup of hot wine and drank gingerly, glaring down at his pease porridge. “You ought to eat. Many of our men won’t see half as much food before winter is over.”

His voice was hoarse from disuse. “Have them eat it, then.” Jon pushed the plate aside. It was easier to hunt in his other skin, but while Ghost feasted on animal flesh, the taste of blood lingered in the man’s tongue.

“You’ll need your strength if we are to ride south,” Val bristled, slamming the cup of wine on the table. 

“Ride south?” he growled. Jon rose, pacing the room restlessly. “I have no business south. You can go.”

“You’d be a fool to stay. The others will come here first, or have you forgotten that too?”

He flexed his hand, vexed by her brashness. He had forgotten many things while rotting on the snow, but the blue eyes of the undead wasn’t one of them. “Let them come.”

“What of Winterfell?” she said softly, “What of your family? Don’t you want to save your sister?”

His heart fell, but her words angered him all the same. There had been a family, he knew. But they were dead or lost, and he could not as much as picture their faces. Finding his memory was not easy, and he could still taste the blood.

“I have no family.”

Val did not argue, only stared at him with disquiet. He wondered if she feared him, or just pitied him. The sooner she’d left his company, the better. He had been a crow, a warg, and now a demon. He had no part among the freefolk.

I’m too sober for this, he thought, reaching for his own cup of wine. Jon had taken a liking to wine after returning to his body; it washed the bitterness in his mouth and dulled the pain in his chest. He ached to shed his skin, but Val had helped him recover, and he owed her some gratitude, in the least.

“You’re certain? You want no part with us?”

“I am.”

Val made to leave, but stopped at the door. “We’ll leave first light.” 

After she left, Jon shed his tunic and slid under the furs. No matter how tired he felt, sleep never came. He felt weak, lightheaded, and hungry. He ran a shaking hand over one of his wounds and took a deep breath, feeling fresh tears gather in his eyes. Refusing to weep, he shut his eyes.

When he opened them again, he walked in a frost-covered forrest, four legs instead of two. He ran with the moon over him, returning back to the smell of men. Part of him was dismayed, hoping to run to the empty wilderness. But the wolf halted and bared his teeth, trying to clear his head and return to his companion. The smell of men and steel was sour, but they parted easily enough to give him way further in. They wore the furs of other beasts, and carried queer claws on their backs.

Laughter rang behind him, making him turn his head sharply. There was a small man cub amongst the group, dark curls trailing after her. Pack, he thought. An irrational part of him raced towards the sound. His heart began to race wildly. Ghost pounced on the snow next to her, and she shrieked as she stumbled down. There were screams, but no one moved to stop him. The girl trembled under his red gaze, but her face were not familiar. Her smell was wrong.

And he knew.

The wolf pulled back from her and ran. He ran from the men, and their fires, and their screams. He ran until he lost the scent of the smoke, and there were only trees and snow. The wolf halted and howled for his brothers, with only the moon to hear him.

He awoke gasping and covered with sweat. The night’s chill had seeped into his bones. Some great solitude had settled over him, but now he knew he hasn’t alone. Jon could feel them, and he remembered. His head was throbbing, the knife wounds burned, but it was the pounding of his heart that awed him most of all. 

“Arya,” he whispered, shivering violently into the night.

**Author's Note:**

> Ah, hope its okay. I have no idea how the events at Castle Black will turn out so this is a very vague one-shot.


End file.
